


Express Yourself

by love_write_edit_sleep



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen, Identity, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 17:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_write_edit_sleep/pseuds/love_write_edit_sleep
Summary: Anthony, upon realizing he can’t draw, begins to feel like an outcast in his family and starts trying to improve to impress them. Carl tries to explain what art is really about.





	Express Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I tried to make Anthony and Matthew very different. Anthony struggles with his emotions and is still trying not to get upset easily. He has a lot of pent emotion and doesn’t like to talk about himself to others in a direct way.

 

Anthony sighed as he looked at his drawing.

Carl, Markus, Leo and himself had arranged a quiet afternoon painting as a family. They spaced themselves out around the room, Markus at the easel, Leo at the table, Carl at his wall, and Anthony on the floor with a canvas.

Anthony looked around. Markus had painted his boyfriend Simon, Carl was in the process of a human/android peace painting of red and blue blood mixing on a battlefield, Leo had painted an interesting abyss of red and black and even Anthony knew Leo was painting his pain.

Anthony looked down at his own canvas.

It was the most appalling portrait of his family.

“Can I borrow your black paint, please?” Anthony asked Leo as he stood. Leo shrugged and pushed a small tin of acrylic paint across the table. Anthony took it and stared for a while before throwing it down on his canvas, splattering black paint across his failure.

“Anthony?” Carl asked from his wheelchair. “Are you alright?”

Anthony didn’t answer, embarrassed and angry with himself.

“You don’t have to paint if you don’t want to.” Carl smiled.

“I do want to.” Anthony whispered. “But I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Markus asked.

“I’m not a good painter.”

“Painting isn’t about being good or bad, it’s about expressing yourself.”

“What does this say about me, then?” Anthony asked angrily, pointing down to the canvas on the floor. Carl blinked.

“It says you give up too easily.”

“Give up?” Anthony asked. “I’ve been practicing for months!”

“Is that where all that paper went?” Leo suddenly asked.

“I try and I try and I never get any better. I never will. Markus and Leo will always be your trophies, while I’m just a dusty ornament at the back of the mantle!”

“Anthony-”

“I want to look in a mirror and see myself! Markus lead and won a revolution! Leo’s recovered from drug abuse! I haven’t done anything to be proud of!”

“Stop it right now.” Carl pushed his wheelchair over to him. “You shouldn’t be aiming to please others, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

“But I need someone to be proud of me!” Anthony cried. “Matthew says Connor is proud of him and that he loves the feeling and… I’m just another grain of salt in the ocean. Nothing separates me from anyone else… I want to be more than that in your eyes.”

“Carl has taken you in out of the goodness of his heart and you still do not believe you are special?” Markus scowled darkly. Carl raised his hand.

“Markus, stop it. Emotions are complicated, and if Anthony needs to feel special, it’s our job to make sure that happens.” Carl turned to Anthony. “Perhaps painting isn’t your talent. What do you feel talented at?”

“Cooking and cleaning.”

“Those are programs.” Markus rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d be good at those.”

“Then perhaps I’m only good as a machine.” Anthony scowled before storming off. Carl sighed.

“He’s not usually so confused and angry…” Carl whispered.

“He’s probably pissed that he can’t do what we can do, even after all that practice. It probably makes him feel like an outcast.” Leo shrugged. “I mean… I sorta get where he’s coming from. I felt like that before.”

“I’ll go and talk to him.” Markus sighed, heading inside. 

He made his way upstairs to Anthony’s room, but was surprised to find it empty. Perhaps Anthony was cooking… But as Markus turned to leave, his eyes fell on an open notebook on Anthony’s desk. Underneath it sat a large pile of poor quality paintings.

Anthony wasn’t kidding when he said he was bad… and that he’d practiced for a long time.

But Markus wasn’t interested in the paintings. He peered into the book, skimming the page before flicking through it.

“Markus?” Markus jumped at the new voice. “What’re you doing?”

“Have you shown this to Dad?” Markus asked, holding up the notebook. 

“No! Give it back!” Anthony lunged for it, but Markus dodged him and slipped past, running down the hall and down the stairs. “Markus!” Anthony cried as he ran after him, almost tripping as Markus slid into the living room and through to the studio.

“Carl, look at this.” Markus shoved the notebook into Carl’s hands. Anthony ran in, his eyes wide with panic when he saw the book in Carl’s hands.

“Markus. Never help yourself to another artist’s work.” Carl whispered, handing the book back to Anthony, who took it and held it to his chest. “It is not yours to share.”

“Sorry, Carl… But it’s really good, you should let him see it, Anthony.” Markus smiled at the android. Anthony held the book closer to his chest.

“Anthony can show me when he’s ready, or not at all.”

“But Carl-”

“Leave the poor boy alone.” Carl whispered, moving away.

“Wait…” Anthony whispered. The request was left unspoken, but Carl understood.

“Are you sure?” Carl asked.

“Yes.” Anthony held the book out. Carl took it with a smile and opened it, flicking through the pages.

Throughout the book were a series of poems, most of which Anthony referred to himself through an object, such as unwanted spare change, an generic grape in a bunch, and a firework that failed to go off.

Others were very direct and to the point, just vents of emotion and pain and failure to understand what or who he was… 

“Anthony, did you write all of these?”

“Yes.”

“Markus is right… These are wonderful.”

“They are…?” Anthony felt his thirium pump skip a beat. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Carl smiled. “Would you like to accompany me to my next presentation? You could write something to accompany my piece, get yourself noticed.”

“I-I… you really like them that much?” Anthony asked.

“Yes.” Carl beamed. “Yes, I really do. They’re art, not visual imagery art but deep, personal art none-the-less. They’re expressions of you, they speak your thoughts, convey your emotions, they’re not so dissimilar from paintings. They’re… Something to be proud of.”

“Proud?”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Carl…!” Anthony swooped down and hugged Carl tight. “Carl, I feel… I feel… I-I can’t explain it.” 

“Try.” Carl encouraged.

“I feel like a flower that has been watered and placed in the sunlight… one wilted and undesirable and nothing special but now it’s bloomed and people have noticed it and given it permission to thrive…”

“How have I never seen this before…” Carl chuckled as Anthony pulled away. “You’ve always spoken in poems.” 

“I have?”

“You have. Could I pinch some inspiration from some of these?”

“Of course, if I can do the same with your paintings?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Leo couldn’t help but smile as he stared down at his canvas and dropped a small can of white paint onto it, decorating the canvas with a bright splatter that split through the blacks and reds of his anguish.

The white was the light, the light that was his family.


End file.
